


It's A Cold, Cold War, Querida Mia

by AlmesivaMoonshadow



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: 80s, Angst, Arms Dealing, Cartels, Central America, Cold War, Communism, Cordis Die, Crimes & Criminals, Drama & Romance, Español | Spanish, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fundamentalism, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Historical References, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, Literary References & Allusions, Mujahedeen, Mythology References, Narco-Terrorist, Narcotics, Nicaragua, Odysseus - Freeform, Odyssey, Organized Crime, Penelope - Freeform, Period Typical Attitudes, Reader Insert, Red Scare, References to Canon, References to Depression, References to Drugs, Romance, Soviets, Terrorism, villain in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 03:09:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19782022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlmesivaMoonshadow/pseuds/AlmesivaMoonshadow
Summary: Every Oddysseus needs his Penelope.





	It's A Cold, Cold War, Querida Mia

_1980's - Nicaragua._

* * *

Raul Menendez never understood the concept of middle grounds.

To him, absolute love and absolute hate were always just that -  
Unmitigated, plenary and definite -  
He saw no reason to indulge in either, if he didn't indulge all the way.  
He claimed it was in his mentality, in his manner, his blood, maybe, push things to one of each extremes.  
Maybe it was due to the fact that he was born and bred in turmoilous times or that he was simply mad -  
Brother to a crippled sibling, son to a murdered father and a lost mother in a broken country.  
He's done far worse things then merely kill people - dispose them of their lives.

He astonished them.

He had the mind of Aristotle and a form like mortal sin, after all.

Now, you thought of yourself as a reasonable person - a person of logic - stance - common sense - someone not easily swayed by rheotrics, grand speeches, ideals, charm, power or pretty faces and you knew of his whereabouts, partially, as much as he allowed you to know - as much as he allowed anyone to know, really - he was like a specter almost - everywhere and nowhere at times - his dealings in Central America, South America, Angola, the Carribeans, the USSR, the FBI, the CIA, the cartels, with Noriega - even then he had his goals set on pretty impossible things - he once told you he will overthrow society as you both knew it and bring about a new order - a better one - a world like never before - and Raul always had a penchant for the melodramatic - for theatrics - big words - social issues - politics - activism - another thing wholly in his nature, so you brushed it off - he was a bookworm type - an intellectual - the kind who fancied ancient myths - old stories - everything from Neruda to Homer - you believed it got to his head when he spoke of things like that and that it was all purely metaphorical - after all, you were very much the reading type yourself. You knew exactly how it felt to cope with pain and loss by immersing yourself in stories and characters to drown your sorrows in letters, words, dialogues and pages. In fact, you did it all the time.

But, Raul had a favourite myth he brought up every time he was about to leave you.  
On, well, whatever, nefarious trip, business, negotiation, infiltration, coup or deal he was trying to achieve.  
The legend of Oddysseus - fucking hell, he even reffered to himself as such, as a sort of nom de guerre.  
He saw himself as a hero on a journey of improssible odds too, much like the old King of Itaca.  
After all, someone who lived the difficult, turmoilous life Raul Menendez has lived -  
Well, such a person could truly be nothing else but an actual Odysseus.  
Always struggling, always surviving, always outsmarting everyone.  
Or at least that's what Raul always claimed.

_-"How long?"-_

You questioned once, wanting to be aquinted with the precise timeline between his return and absences.  
He had a lot of enemies - you knew that - that kid who grew up in the slums of Managua.  
Now someone who had more men after him then you could account for.  
You felt you have every right to be cautious and careful.

Afraid even.

_-"For as long as it's nesscary, hmm? Remember Odysseus, mi amor? His voyage?"-_

He re-assured you, placing the palm of his hand on your cheek with an almost celestial, serene type of smile which could only tell you that he wasn't only completely unphased, but also unfraid or whatever may come - he was the type of man that looked down a barrel of a loaded gun when faced with an enemy, and grin back as if though the very prospect of instant death was something only barely mediocre and not the most definite thing on the planet - in fact, you've personally witnessed him do it before - well, with his past and all, one would believe he'd see life as the most precious thing ever and at least attempt to cherish every single moment he's given - but, no - Raul was completely prepared to martyr myself at any moment for his beliefs and his movement. His Cordis Die. Helping the poor and downthrodden of this world. The working classes. The forgotten. The outcast. Much like he used to be before his rise. The revolution burned in his blood, driving him to do these things.In all his rage. And anger. And spite. And stubborness. But, you supposed that that's what you deserve for getting intimimately entangled with a dye-in-the-bone communist and someone who peddles arms and coke for a living with everyone starting from Nicaraguan rebels, the Soviets, Cold War Agents, to Central American drug lords and all the way down to the Mujahedeens.

It's not that he didn't care of that he was negleftul - he simply had three great passions in life;

You, his family, or at least what remained of it - and revenge - againts anyone and everyone.

_-"Well, you? You are Penelope."-_

He added, finally - and the sheer symbolism of it all hit you like a stray bullet;  
His words were meant to be a complement but they landed being more of a jab somehow.  
His calloused, broad hands sliding down your face in the semblance of a caress.  
You were the loyal soulmate and second half that always waited.  
Had his back, lied for him, did unspeakable things for him.  
And Raul was the man on a personal quest and vendetta.  
A terrorist, by all means and by every possible definition.  
Even though he saw himself as a freedom fighter - a man of justice.  
And suddenly, one of the most beautiful of Homer's stories turned sour.  
You were to be the patient, long-awaiting bride weaving a death shroud while expecting the return of her love.

Much like you fearfully awaited wherever Raul was off doing whatever he was doing.

_-"You know what? I really hate that myth now."-_

Was all you managed to say, resigned and heartbroken enough for it to be obvious, hearing him chuckle in the process, as you slid into his embrace as a way to say goodbye before he departed and in that moment, you really, truly were a Penelope to a self-proclaimed Odysseus - leaving all your fears and doubts entirely confirmed - when Raul Menendez loved, he loved all the way - never partially, never half way there, never without dedication and if he needed you by his side, he needed you to back him like a pillar and be the picture of steadfast fidelity only Homer could have conjured up.


End file.
